The shot of the blaster rang out. In slow motion, she saw as it glittered through the dry, windy air and pierced Maul in the shoulder.

He fell. The glaring, crimson lightsaber flew out of his hand, clattered.

As heads began to turn to her, as the guards at her side began to reach out to try and detain her, she tossed the metal ball down with all of her might. A hand snaked around her arm, but disappeared as the explosion of mist shot out of the ground.

A massive cloud of blinding, gagging smoke concealed everything. It intruded into her lungs, through her nose, but she moved forward, ignoring the coughs and cries of the men around her, ignoring the pain that was her constant companion. Low to the ground, she scanned the pavement, parting through the choking vapor.

The world seemed to spin slower. She saw everything so clearly—every particle of dust, every waft of white mist against her skin, every step against the gravel. Something sparkled in her peripheral. She noted, stomach clenching, that it was Obi's arm, still clutching his lightsaber.

Taking a deep breath, she left it there—another problem for another time.

Crouching low, she continued.

Within moments, she came upon a white-clothed leg. Obi-wan was still lying flat on his back. As she surged to his side, his prodigal gaze was able to see her, aware of her presence. With a knowing but frightened look, his features were full of remorse.

She gave him a tight smile.

"It's not your fault," she whispered, barely audible above the chaotic screams.

Floating, disembodied legs were sprinting all around her—the smoke was beginning to clear.

Brow furrowed, she snatched the Jedi's loose, mangled shirt and pulled.

Her injured arms were no use, there was no strength left. She hadn't thought this far.

"Obi, you have to help me!" she exclaimed in a hush.

Although it seemed he would pass out if he tried, and indeed he felt that way, he nonetheless clenched his grizzled jaw and with a muffled moan sat up. His shoulder was all that remained of his right arm, the charred stump rotated forward as if the limb was still attached.

"That's it! That's it! Quickly now!" she encouraged, cradling him.

With one last, useless heave, he managed to stumble to his feet, but he swayed like a tree in a hurricane. The atmosphere was certainly not helping.

No time to waste, she began towing him behind her with whatever leverage she had left. His vision was a kaleidoscope. It felt as if his skin was trying to crawl away, ripping away. The heat beat down on him like a mallet, the smoke was concrete in his chest, but still he moved, unable to fully regain his equilibrium. The only thing keeping his feet on the ground was the tiny, infinitesimal tug on the front of his ripped shirt—her petite grip.

But he could not hold it, and they both knew it. As if their legs were moving through syrup, through quick sand, there was no end to the thick vapor that enveloped them. The loss of his dominant arm left him far more clumsy and lopsided. The smoke was blinding. With each step, she did not know if they grew closer to breaking free from it, or if they were simply running in circles. She had never done something like this before, and it showed. Every so often, patches of Death Watch uniforms were seen, she tried to dodge them as best she could, tried to swerve away.

"What happened?!"

"Man down!"

"Where's the Duchess?!"

"Call Savage!"

"Find them!"

The hounds were at their heels, she quickened the pace. Hyperventilating, she couldn't find clean air, couldn't escape the suffocating mist. It was if she was swimming through a storm cloud.

It proved too much. The knee of a running soldier smacked right into the staggering Jedi. Out of body, she could only feel as Obi-wan began to fall backward, taking her with him. Her neck whipped harshly, her head began to spin. The arm that had been holding him came out of its socket. She was forced to let go. The linen of his shirt slipped through her fingers.

Obi-wan collided to the ground, sending more dust into the air, rippling the vapor. The sound rang out, a death knell. The yells quieted and the fog dissipated. It seemed to sink into the ground, evaporate mystically into the atmosphere, leaving only a shimmering smear. It was no coincidence. The familiar sight of the Death Watch faces reappeared. All of them were in random places, but they began to converge and organize as the smoke dispersed.

Her stomach began to clench as she collapsed, but then she stopped, mid-fall. She should have been with Obi on the pavement by now, but she wasn't. An unseen hand was holding her up, clenching her in its invisible fist.

"No…" she croaked, not having to see to know.

Puppet on a string, she was whisked around, feet off the ground. Her spine felt as if it would snap.

There was Maul, blood trickling frugally down his front, out of his mouth. A flicker of light glittered through the hole in his upper chest from where she shot him. He held his lightsaber, but he didn't need it.

Face twisted, his bloodshot gaze was itching toward utter insanity. It wasn't burning—it was ice cold and cracking. He looked at her as if they had never met, staring though her. His nostrils were flared, his hand twitched as he held his arm out in front of him. His bloody mouth was flinching, twitching uncontrollably upward and then reversing, scrunching—up and down, smile and frown, tragedy and comedy. His antlered head jerked, cocked, straightened, and then repeated.

He was a dying spider.

Although his lips convulsed spasmodically, he managed to hiss through clenched teeth:

"You."

His outstretched hand tightened all the more. His fingers trembled like trampled cockroach legs.

Instantly, her whiplashed throat squeezed, collapsing on itself.

Mouth drying, lungs failing, blood vessels popping, her vision was darkening into a deep, inky black. Her thoughts became thick and slow, until there was nothing in her head at all. Everything was drifting toward the infinite shadows.

On the ground, Obi-wan saw it happening before his glazed eyes. He saw hazily as she was hung to dry, as she was crunched like a can. But he was not himself, his soul hovered above him somewhere. There was nothing he could do.

A tantalizing darkness was calling to him, beckoning him. It crept up into his vision until it completely engulfed all senses. Unable to hold out against its monstrous pull, he accepted it and descended into shadows.

For a few seconds, there was only black, but then a scene began to stretch out before him. It was his favorite reverie, his heavenly space, and he wondered if he had finally joined the Force, had finally escaped the cage of his mortal body.

Trapped in his mind, he saw Satine next to him in the wheat fields of his dreams. They had been laughing, he was sure, but now was all was quiet on the plains. She made a move to get up. Confused, he wanted to ask her what she was doing, but no words would escape his dreamy lips—only incomprehensible sounds.

He had both his arms, his body felt whole, alive. The wear of war was nowhere to be seen on him. The many scars he had acquired over many years were nonexistent.

Even better, she was just as he imagined whenever he thought of her. That headstrong Duchess who had just come into power but was completely unaffected by its sway. Her face was younger, but her eyes were just the same, too old for her age.

Like a mother, she stood above him with a penetrating, perceptive look. The make-believe breeze ruffled her heavenly tendrils. He did not want to leave this place, did not want to face the reality out there. There was too much pain, he couldn't do it alone.

Why couldn't she come with him?

Ashamed, he looked away, holding onto the feathery soil.

"Obi," she exhaled in a loving sigh.

The chime of her voice enveloped him. He met her omniscient gaze sheepishly, and he felt like a boy, like a youngling who had done something wrong.

But instead of scolding him, she extended a slender, supple hand. He knew that if he took it, he would leave and never return to this moment of serenity. Her knowing eyes shimmered down at him like the brightest stars, like distant, brilliant moons.

Duty called.

Before he accepted it he managed to say:

"I love you."

Her smile became of beam of sunlight, and he grasped her ethereal fingers.

Immediately, he crashed back into himself. The terrible pain was the first thing he felt, but his brain remained pristinely clear.

Maul was focusing all of his attention on her. His maddened features were shuddering grotesquely, like a bug. The smoke was still parting, leaving only an eerie fog that wrapped around ankles. The soldiers were standing away, startled by the surreal change in their leader, unsure what to do.

Obi-wan's right shoulder was on fire, he felt the charred muscles, the absence of his arm. It was threatening to overpower all of his senses, but the vision had left him with a breath-taking power.

He had accepted his attachment. He had finally admitted his love.

Just in time to watch her die.

With a cry, he jumped up onto his mangled toes.

The Sith instantly cocked his head at him, lip curled distortedly. The Duchess fell heavily, lifeless, slumped.

Reaching his remaining hand outward, Obi searched the Force and found what he sought. Maul wasted no time. On a dime, he rushed toward the wobbly Jedi, muttering incomprehensibly. His blade was unsheathed and bloodthirsty.

"Mine!" the Dathomirian finally managed to snarl at his minions, boots pumping ferociously.

But Obi-wan's lonely lightsaber whisked out of his dispatched hand and flew faithfully to him. As the Sith crashed down upon him, Kenobi held him at bay with a resounding parry, bending backwards. The muscles on his one arm strained, but held against the blow.

Enraged, Maul took another devastating swipe at his legs, which the Knight also managed to deflect. It depleted him considerably, and crimson-colored spit flew from his lips in a wheezing grunt.

Sparks hissed and crackled off of the joined lightsabers. Maul poured on the pressure, growing closer, inch by inch, to Obi.

The two adversaries locked gazes—blue against red. Each held an equal hatred for the other, but only one would win out. Kenobi could feel his will breaking, his wrist quivering under the weight. The veins on his neck popped, his teeth ground together.

Then, he spotted Satine.

The remaining smoke floated over her still, silent body. The sight hit him like a train, like a bullet to the head. Maul followed his vision, eyes flicking back and forth like crazed clockwork, and coughed out a laugh.

With a savage yell, Obi-wan pushed his opponent back, unleashing his pent-up energy. It was not pure, but filled with an unending anger. His love for Satine became a hatred of Maul. Its power sent the Death Watch flying backward, against the palace walls. They fell flat on their faces, some of them cried, while others went quiet.

Satine's lank hair rustled like grass as she lay on the pavement.

"NO!" the Jedi cried, shoulders heaving, heart breaking.

Not like this.

The Sith had not expected such a reaction and was sent reeling, skidding. His eyes widened in peculiar curiosity.

The wind howled, began to swirl. A ship could be seen on the horizon, followed by a cluster of tie fighters, going in and out of clouds.

The chains that had held him together, the code that the Jedi had molded him in, broke. Although his emotions were in turmoil, his target couldn't be clearer. His devastated stare flickered toward the crouched Sith. His trembling lip stilled, his face deadened.

"You," he breathed in a lethal whisper, quivering with adrenaline. "Killed her."

Quick as a snake, he charged, and slashed the Sith in the chest. A murky gash sprouted immediately, it began leaking blackened tears.

Again, before the stumbling Maul could strike out in defense, Obi was behind him. He smiled as he cut into his enemy's back. He savored the scent, savored the grunt of pain that escaped his prey's throat. He went for the kill.

"Not. This. Time," Maul hissed in between breaths as the blue blade swept toward his neck.

He blocked it an inch from his eye and elbowed Obi-wan in the chest. The two faced off again. Both of them filled to the brim with animosity, with unadulterated loathing.

Like magnets, they collided, completely oblivious to everything around them. Twirling, dancing, it was a magnificent sight to behold. Even with one arm, Kenobi portrayed to the world why he was a Jedi Knight, why he could never be counted out of a fight. Completely unbridled, he exploded in a flurry of attacks. He was not playing for a draw; he was in it to kill, to murder, as ruthlessly as he could.

Although freshly wounded, Maul still leapt acrobatically to and fro, feinting and slashing. Nevertheless, he could not dodge everything, Kenobi was too quick. Before he could find his balance, the one-armed Jedi would be there to try and cut off his legs, to take his head. By sheer will alone, he staved off death.

Some of the Death Watch soldiers were coming to, a gunshot rang out.

It didn't hit the Jedi, but soared close over his head.

Robotically, without emotion, he tossed his blade high in the air, pushed Maul backward with a burst of power and then turned to find the guard. Seeing the shooter, he lifted the sentry into the air and snapped his neck.

Behind him he heard the incoming footsteps of the Sith.

Just in time, the handle of the lightsaber fell back into his one hand and, in the same motion, he spun around. His burning sapphire saber hit its mark. Another deep gash cut into Maul, who staggered backward with a frustrated cry.

Immediately, Obi-wan marched forward.

Before his opponent could block it, another slash tore through him—this time across the stomach. Then, Kenobi sliced twice more, his weapon a blur as it seared into Maul. One last time, the Dathomirian lashed out, but it was sloppy.

Obi easily cut the Sith's hand off. The infamous dual-blade went with it.

Before Maul could think to snatch the stolen darksaber on his belt, Kenobi lopped the rest of the arm off. Then, he sliced the other, eye for an eye. Just a torso with legs, the Sith fell over, crying in pain. But the Jedi would not be sated unless he had the head.

Scrambling pathetically backward, Maul's mad features became wide and pleading, agonized.

"I surrender, Kenobi," he rasped, spitting up blood, still twitching madly. "I surrender. Please. I surrender!"

But the Jedi could only see Satine's body, lying there in the dust and mist. With pure revulsion he kicked Maul in the jaw. A burst of crimson exploded into the air. The sickening crunch of skull meeting pavement crackled.

It was not enough. He raised his saber.

Then, a terrible gust of power burst through him—he flew backward and landed hard on his head. The lightsaber was knocked out of his white-knuckled grasp. He heard it clank against the rock.

A massive figure stood on the horizon, his hand raised up.

"No…" Kenobi groaned, concussed, seeing triple.

He attempted to stand again, but only managed to prop up on his elbow.

Savage had returned.

Shadowed by the setting sun, his looming figure appeared even larger—a mountain. His black, x-shaped ship sat beside him, the engines humming. The air around it rippled. With intense hostility he stared at the downed Jedi, saber in his fist.

A dry breeze whooshed between them.

Obi-wan pushed off the ground, but had to lean back onto his good arm, unable to fight against gravity. He began searching for his weapon.

Opress took a decisive step forward, but then his gaze flickered upward, and he stopped. Kenobi could feel the shift of purpose in the fledgling Sith.

With a wolfish growl, Savage sneered menacingly and shook his head, blowing loudly out his bullish nose. Eyes never leaving Kenobi, he crouched down and picked up his deformed brother, whose legs swung limply.

As if Maul was a toddler, Savage seemed to carry him without the slightest burden. With one last, hateful glare, no words, he turned his back on the Jedi and leapt into his tie fighter. The hatch began to close.

"No," Kenobi spat, and made a concerted effort to stand.

But the ship was already pushing off the ground.

"No!" he roared again and again.

Too late, when he finally managed to get to his worn feet, the Sith were already ascending. Not one to give in, he started sprinting, stumbling drunkenly. He chased the shadow to the very edge of the terrace. He held his hand out, but the ship was disappearing into twilight. With a sparkle, it was gone.

"No…No...No…" he said in between hard breaths.

For a moment he stared into the darkening clouds, wishing more than anything he was someone else, something else.

I've failed her.

The very thought sapped his dwindling will.

Obi-wan collapsed to his knees and screamed with all his might, shaking the ground, emptying his guts. His shattered cry rang out, a mournful, heart-wrenching howl.

He lurched forward, bowed, crumpled. He roared at the earth. Drool poured from his mouth, he felt it tickle into his tarnished beard and drip onto the gravel as his entire being quaked, convulsed.

When he had no more air or heart left to give, he raised his head slowly, staring emptily at the sky. The last ray of light glittered against his blue eyes and then disappeared, taking his morality with it. Panting, chest heaving, heart pounding, he inhaled sharply and stood.

A Death Watch soldier laid, hardly breathing, behind him. He sensed his fear. Without blinking, Obi-wan turned around and began walking toward the survivor.

He reached out and dragged the unfortunate man to him with the Force while still in stride. The sound of dragging, useless boots kicking out against concrete echoed.

"Wait! Please!" the guard begged, coughing.

His cracked face-guard revealed a green, fearful eye.

The Jedi felt the man's life-force, knowing he could snuff it out. The temptation was strong. The strangled pleas reminded him of Satine. His fingers curled. The cries grew less lucid, became garbled chokes as the flailing body skidded across the pavement.

The soldier would be dead before he even reached Kenobi's feet.

Then, another presence, another Force-wielder entered the scene. It snapped his hold on the Death Watch crony, who abruptly halted and sagged to the ground, unconscious. His helmet clanged, his limp limbs thumped.

Before the Jedi could react, he felt it—a hand on his forearm.

Brokenly, Obi-wan peered at the owner.

"Let go of me, Anakin," he said, staring hollowly through the boy.

He would not.

"That's enough," Skywalker said cautiously, as if speaking to an unstable criminal. "It's over."

Obi-wan shook his head.

"He must be killed. He's too dangerous to be left alive."

The young Jedi's face only hardened.

"Perhaps," he concurred vaguely. "But that's not for you to decide."

But reason was not welcome in Kenobi's mind any longer—there was only anger and self-hatred. He could not keep his fury bottled up.

Blinded by his bloodthirst, he tried to kick Anakin's footing out from under him. But his legs were too slow, and Skywalker easily dodged the attack. This did not mean that the Jedi Knight did not try all the more to get to the downed soldier. He began struggling to break free, to take out his unseeing vengeance on someone, anyone.

"I won't let you stop me!" Obi-wan cried as he began to store up power. "He has to die!"

Skywalker was going to let go, one way or another.

"Don't you know who you sound like?!" Anakin exclaimed, grunting as he increased his grip.

For a moment, the Knight stilled. He turned his head and spat out a glob of blood, a glare entrenched on his features.

"I don't need a lecture from you, boy."

"Then stop this madness!" Anakin snapped back, face full of concern.

This set the one-armed man off again. With all rage, he cried:

"Satine is dead! She's gone! Maul killed her!" his gaze switched back to the unconscious soldier, full of murderous longing. "And he helped!"

Before Skywalker could answer, the Knight struck suddenly. He kneed his friend in the stomach and turned swiftly to finish the man off. Before he could summon his lightsaber back to his grip, Anakin grabbed him from behind in a gentle, but firm bear hug. Obi kicked out, flailed with all his strength, his grieved stare never leaving his target.

"Obi-wan, stop it!" Anakin barked, pulling him away. "It's not what you think…"

"It's exactly what I think!" he cut off, seeing nothing but a haze of red. "I saw it happen!"

But the boy's hold was like a vice; he couldn't shake him, not with only one arm.

"If you don't let me go…" he began to threaten.

"She's alive!"